Training Planet Read online

  Training Planet

  Emily Tilton

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Afterword

  Galactic Discipline Series

  The Institute Series

  The Institute: Naughty Little Girls Series

  The Institute: Bad Girls Series

  Bound for Service Series

  Beyond the Institute: The Future of Correction Series

  Corporate Correction Series

  Victorian Correction Series

  Shamefully Courted Series

  More Stormy Night Books by Emily Tilton

  Emily Tilton Links

  Copyright © 2021 by Stormy Night Publications and Emily Tilton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Tilton, Emily

  Training Planet

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Shutterstock/NeonShot, Shutterstock/SergeyBitos, and Shutterstock/Juan Manuel Rodriguez

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter 1

  Britana Geran’s mother told her, after the guests had left, to go get her info tablet. Britana, eighteen that day and feeling like the belle of the ball—in that old Earth expression her father liked to use of his wife and his two daughters—began to say that she could deal with her schoolwork later. Then she noticed the odd, sad expression in her mother’s eyes.

  “Turn it on in your room,” her mother said, “and look at it.”

  “Mummy,” Britana said, almost shifting her tone into a teasing sort of address but holding back at the last moment as her mother’s serious face affected her. “I know how to use a tablet.”

  Bellare Geran’s lips moved as if she wanted to smile. Her forehead creased, and now Britana suddenly felt a strange, nameless dread.

  “Yes,” Mummy said. Her voice faltered. “Just… when you turn the tablet on, you’ll see.”

  Britana frowned, and went to her room. To her dismay, her hands trembled as they picked up the old tablet on which she had done so many school lessons—and wouldn’t have to do many more, now that she had turned eighteen. In a week, the slim, dark-haired girl would travel halfway across her world, Normeria, to begin her service-learning program in the ecological corps.

  Just three years before, when the space war had raged and Normeria had chosen the wrong side, her older sister hadn’t been able to travel for her own service learning. Fostera Geran had remained in Allenton, the Normerian capital, to start her career as a physician.

  After the peace, though, and despite the defeat of the Vionian coalition the Normerians had so unwisely joined, young people’s prospects once again lay wide open. Britana loved her family, but she wanted to spend at least the next few years far away from Allenton, in the still largely unknown wilderness created by the planet’s terraforming.

  The tablet came to life in her hands.

  Alert: Important message received from Planetary Authority

  The only other time Britana had seen the red notification on the tablet’s screen had been when the Vionian Empire had surrendered, leaving all its allies—including Normeria—to their individual fates at the hands of the Magisterians who controlled the Galactic Federation. Her heart beating very fast, she touched the button to go to the message.

  Dear Britana Geran,

  Happy birthday!

  Britana frowned, some of her anxiety dissipating as the momentary impression that the urgent message comprised only birthday wishes. Then she remembered the look on her mother’s face.

  Your Planetary Authority wishes you all the best on your special day, and welcomes you to adulthood. We know you will do your best in these trying times to help your fellow citizens, now that you have reached your full status as one of us.

  Britana’s frown deepened. Everything the news seemed to have been saying over the past two years or so had carried such a tone of hopefulness. Sure, the planet had taken the losing side in a war, but hadn’t the Magisterians treated the conquered worlds—with the exception of Vionia itself—with great leniency?

  We ask that you read the attached message from the Magisterian Colonial Authority, and prepare yourself to comply with its instructions. You must present yourself at the receiving entrance of the Girls’ Training Center, 67 Great Allen Street, no more than seventy-two hours from the time you opened this message. We advise that you do your best to follow all the specifications found in the attached message, in order that your time of service to the Magisterian Navy begin as happily as possible and continue in the same way.

  Your grateful planet salutes you.

  Britana looked at the button that would open the attachment as if it might bite her finger should she touch it. What did it mean? The Magisterian Navy? Trying with very little success to get her breathing under control, she considered running out of her room and finding her mother—demanding to know how and why her parents had kept from her this vital information.

  Her plans for Eastern Ecological had clearly been castles in the air. The peace treaty had dire provisions that the Planetary Authority had seen fit to hide from the very young people on whom it seemed the Magisterians had decided to place this terrible burden.

  Well. Britana’s heartrate descended a bit. I did want to see the galaxy, and I had to settle for Eastern Ecological, she thought. Her finger still trembled, but she pressed the button.

  The following message is intended to be delivered to each designated female of the planet Normeria on her eighteenth birthday.

  Greetings from your Colonial Authority.

  My Colonial Authority? A chill traveled down Britana’s spine.

  You have been designated, under the secret terms of the Treaty of Allentown, as a part of your planet’s war reparations to the Galactic Federation. You will attend the Girls’ Training Center and after your erotic training you will serve as a ship girl in the Royal Navy of Magisteria for a term of not more than five years.

  Britana’s jaw dropped. Her cheeks blazed with fiery heat.

  The Magisterian Colonial Authority’s decision to locate our training facility for ship girls on Normeria followed directly from the Normerian government’s boasts concerning the planet’s citizens’ fierce pride and complete independence. By placing the facility, where daughters of the Normerian elite like you become sexual servants for the Royal Navy, in the center of the capital of Normeria, the Colonial Authority sends a very clear message. You, as a designated fuck toy, represent an important part of that message.

  Britana felt her face crumple, her nose prickling with tears. It couldn’t be true, and yet… again she remembered her mother’s face. How long had they known? How many girls got ‘designated’? To her horror, the next paragraph told her.

  The parent(s) or guardian(s) of a certain number of the qualifying female population—families with
an income in the top ten percent—receive notification the day prior to their daughters’ eighteenth birthdays. As one of those designated girls, you will present yourself at the receiving entrance of the center within seventy-two hours.

  To prepare yourself for the beginning of your training, you are to say farewell to your family and your friends and ensure that your affairs are in order. Pack a bag no larger than 60cm by 50cm by 10cm. Bring only personal effects including at most one photograph and one other keepsake. Any clothing will be confiscated; all necessary garments will be supplied to you at the training center, should you earn the privilege of wearing clothing.

  We look forward to training you as a valuable addition to the comforts available to the Royal Navy’s proud and valiant officers and men. We know you will find your service shameful, especially at first, but we encourage you to remember that your world brought this consequence upon itself, and upon you.

  When you and your fellow ship girls serve the lusts of the people you wronged, the manhoods that enjoy your young body will help you experience the reversal of your planet’s fortunes. Moreover, the Sisters of Service who govern the center where you will soon go will ensure that you understand how thoroughly your vagina, your anus, and your mouth, the parts of you in which we are interested, belong not to you and your world, but to us, and to ours.

  The tablet fell from Britana’s hands to her bed. She could hardly believe any of it—the secret terms of the treaty, the very existence of this vile center, the notification her parents had obviously received the previous day and not wanted to tell her about in order that her birthday be happy until this terrible moment.

  Her mind, however, dwelt despite her best efforts on the frank, lewd ending of the letter. It seemed inconceivable to Britana that some Magisterian bureaucrat had dared write those shameful things. She knew, however, from social studies at school, that Magisterian society—the civilization that controlled so much of the galaxy and its wealth through its monopoly on the mineral gravitium, essential to starships’ hyperdrives—prided itself on what it called its ethical non-egalitarianism.

  Her social studies teacher had gone a little red in her cheeks while discussing it, and Britana hadn’t thought she truly understood what the teacher, Ms. Fressen, meant. She had gotten the vague impression that Magisterian men took charge of their institutions, and that women who didn’t wish to be subordinated could migrate to more egalitarian worlds.

  Something in the way Ms. Fressen spoke of the lives of the women who chose to remain on Magisteria, though, had made Britana raise her hand.

  “They serve as caregivers and teachers, if they wish,” the teacher had said, “but because of Magisteria’s extraordinary wealth their primary role is as companions.”

  Britana had felt certain Ms. Fressen had seen her raised hand, but instead of calling on her, the teacher had moved quickly on to discuss the Vionian Empire.

  She had wanted to know what companion meant. To her dismay, she felt certain now that it must mean something like ship girl.

  Fuck toy. They had put that right in the letter.

  Britana’s tummy flipped over. For a moment she wondered whether the Magisterians chose the fifty percent of wealthy eighteen-year-olds for any special reason—did naval officers or colonial bureaucrats look at photographs? Had one of them seen an image of her—her school portrait, perhaps—and decided Britana Geran must be one of the young women sent to the training center?

  Her forehead puckered and she found that she had taken her lower lip between her teeth.

  Ship girl. Fuck toy. She hardly even knew what the awful monosyllable, the one no young lady must ever say, meant. Britana glanced down at the tablet on the bed, still displaying the terrible message from the Colonial Authority. She felt so strange, thinking about it; tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but her mind and heart and body had come into such turmoil that she didn’t even know why, exactly.

  Because my life just changed for the worse. For the terrible… the horrible, she told herself. No Eastern Ecological. Five years.

  Why did she feel, then, that the watering of her eyes came from somewhere else? From an awful notion that had more to do with her sudden certainty that the Magisterians had indeed chosen her for their horrid center, and not solely because of her prettiness.

  “Britana?”

  Britana turned to see her mother at the door, with tears in her own eyes and her arms open. Daughter flew to mother and let that embrace envelop her and do away with the other reason to cry. Britana wept in her mother’s arms for the pure desolation of having to leave home this way.

  * * *

  Her mother hugged her again two days later, right before Britana got out of the family car onto the curb of the Girls’ Training Center drop-off zone. Until they drove up in front of it, Britana hadn’t fully understood what the Magisterians had done to humble her world’s pride. As soon as she stood on the sidewalk looking up at what had been Allen Mansion, the grand neo-classical home of the presidents of Normeria, she grasped it, though: the conquerors had turned the first family’s home into a training center that turned proper young ladies into subservient pleasure girls.

  She gripped the handle of her little suitcase, thinking of the picture of her family inside it, taken the morning of her birthday only two days before. It seemed like a million years ago, when Britana had felt herself to be one kind of girl—now she felt like quite a different kind. She thought of the little book she had grabbed off her desk as her keepsake: a real book, hundreds of years old, passed down in her family from youngest daughter to youngest daughter, and given to Britana as her own for that same fateful birthday, by her older sister, who had received it on her own eighteenth.

  An outrageous title that had made her blush, but a reinforcement, in its way, of Normeria’s egalitarian culture, that the family had kept this book, just for fun. Sex and the Single Girl.

  “Britana Geran?” asked a stern female voice from the doorway in front of her—the service entrance of the mansion, repurposed it seemed as the receiving door for the center. “Come in here right now. You’ll learn not to dally that way soon enough.”

  Britana looked at the woman, her eyes going wide and her cheeks going hot. Middle-aged, she wore a strange, shapeless, long black dress, and her hair was covered in a sort of black scarf that made her face look very severe—an impression not at all alleviated by the disapproving look on her face.

  Britana froze. The woman sighed with such evident disapproval that Britana turned around, to see that a police vehicle had just made her mother pull away from the curb, giving Britana a final, hopeful wave. She clearly didn’t see the look on the black-dressed woman’s face, Britana thought, panic rising in her chest, or she never would have left me.

  She felt something press lightly against the small of her back, and then to her dismay she felt a strange tingling emanate from that spot and after it, even more frighteningly, an even stranger lassitude.

  “Come along, you naughty girl,” said the woman’s voice. “You will call me Sister Portia. I am head sister of the center. Let’s get you inside and out of your clothes for inspection. Then we’ll teach you not to dally.”

  Britana felt the woman’s hand on her elbow, gripping her tightly but not so tightly that Britana should have felt so utterly unable to resist. She tried desperately to run away, and she knew she should have had the strength to do so, but when Sister Portia used her slender fingers on the inside of Britana’s arm to turn the younger woman toward the door and propel her through it, Britana found she couldn’t make her body move properly.

  She understood suddenly, with a heart-stopping thrill of panic, that something horrible had happened to her… something brought about by the thing that had touched her back. Whatever the older woman had used on her had somehow made it impossible for her to resist.

  “Wait!” she said as Sister Portia walked her into the vestibule, where another identically dressed middle-aged woman sat behind a little desk.
“Please… I won’t dally anymore.”

  “No, you little slut,” Sister Portia said into her ear. “I know you won’t, after I whip your impudent backside for you.”

  Chapter 2

  Captain Vincent Edwards of the Magisterian heavy cruiser Indus decided to spend some of the relatively abundant free time he possessed while station-keeping in the Normerian system to observe the training of the newest ship girls. With a crew of two and not a single ship girl aboard, Vincent felt a keen interest in the process.

  The closure of the service academy on Yeg two years before had made the Royal Navy’s sexual servants much scarcer. For a long while only the flagships of Magisteria’s three star fleets had carried ship girls. The opening of the training center on Normeria had begun to address the shortage: the Indus, like the other cruisers of the Purple Fleet, rotating through the system, would receive three of the fuck toys now undergoing their training.

  Sitting down at his desk in his spacious cabin, Vincent noticed to his pleasure that he had a fine view of the planet itself, the blue-green of a well-terraformed world, out his window. Opening his view screen, he got the marvelously vertiginous feeling of zooming in across the impossible distance, to the special facility housed in what had, Vincent knew, once been Normeria’s president’s mansion.